Growing the thousand faces
by SarahBelle
Summary: She'll concede that he loves her, but he is not IN love with her; Erik is a man who falls in love, willing or no,  with very few people, and she is not one of those people yet. She'll settle for trust, while she grows more faces. M/M, M/A, hinted E/C.
1. Chapter 1

Raven didn't…dislike Frost, exactly, but neither did she like her. The woman didn't make it easy in any case; speak so much as a word to her and she fixed you with a look that all but flayed off your face and skull to pick apart your brain, and was possibly doing it mentally at the same time. She also seemed to have only two moods, self satisfied and quietly grouchy, and it was sometimes hard to tell the difference between them. Hell, it was understandable; she had the dubious honour of being the temporary right hand woman to the man who'd killed her own boss, after all. Also, Raven suspected that Erik had given Frost a much harsher rebuff than he had her, possibly right through a wall - though she was very careful never to think this in the telepath's presence, as years of living with Charles had taught her all the tricks of the trade. She also knew too well that Frost, unlike Charles, would have no problem with manipulating her or causing her pain, so she never picked a fight or spoke to her at all if she could help it, and kept out of her way.

She kept out of Angel's way, too. At the start it was because her former…current team mate's wings had been healing and she hadn't really wanted to be bothered, as she moaned in pain on a bed in whatever hideout they were currently using. Now it was by choice rather than necessity. Hypocrite most definitely, but she just couldn't forget the way Angel had left them, getting poor Darwin killed in the process, however unintentionally. Spoiled and raised at least part of her life in the lap of luxury Raven might be, but she'd chosen to give up luxury and go into danger and uncertainty, while Angel had signed up for wiping out most of the earth's population in the most destructive way possible, just so she could live like a queen. Or all right, not _just so_, there was that whole 'with us or against us' speech Shaw had made, not to mention the dead bodies scattered all over the place at the time, but the living like a queen thing was still a big part of it. All the different outfits Angel paraded around in all the time, and the things she bought with the money that Raven was able to obtain from Shaw's bank accounts, were the proof of that.

Raven understood why she'd made the choice. In such a situation, if Charles hadn't found her in the kitchen long ago and Shaw had approached her like that, she might well have done the same thing. But there was still enough of Charles in her that she couldn't look Angel in the eye yet, and didn't know if she ever would.

She didn't even know if Riptide _spoke_ English, and didn't really want to find out.

Azazel _did _speak English, though with a heavy accent. But out of all the people in the world he was definitely the very last one she wanted to talk to, and not because of the trite warnings about those 'Commie bastards' that had filled her childhood and adolescence. He really honestly s_cared _her, not that she'd ever give him the satisfaction of showing it. She'd look at him and remember explosions of red smoke, and the wet crunches as bodies hit the ground from impossible heights, men screaming and squelching as the blades were shoved into them, the way he'd choked that guy and danced him around like a puppet at the same time. She'd close her eyes and see him holding Hank down, preparing to drive that forked tail into her…her friend's eye. She also remembered how she'd fooled him, though, and that made her smile, though again never where he could see.

Erik was just…Erik. He'd talk to the others as Magneto, but when he was certain Frost was gone and the others were settled down the helmet would come off, and they'd sit or lie together in silence. He still hadn't asked to be forgiven for what he'd done to Charles, and she hadn't offered to forgive him; and he hadn't thanked her for coming with him and she hadn't said that she was glad she had. That, without any discussions or decisions, was their punishment. But they'd hold each other, fully clothed on his part, and sometimes she would cry and sometimes, sometimes, she would feel wetness on her forehead, although that might just be sweat and not anything else.

Most of the time, when she wasn't being shown a photo or Frost wasn't projecting an image into her brain or Erik wasn't coaching her in crucial phrases, supplemented occasionally though unwelcomingly by Azazel, _We need you to be him, This is where you must go and what you must do, This is how you must sound, Here's how you say it authentically in French/Spanish/German/Russian, _or when she wasn't walking into banks and other places and getting hold of all the resources that Shaw had squirreled away all over the planet before the government could declare him legally dead, she would sit still and just _look _at herself.

A lifetime of hiding herself away couldn't be truly overcome with a few declarations of beauty, and after the elation of Erik's kiss had finally worn off and she'd succeeded in shocking Charles, she been all too quick to put her clothes back on. Now she trained herself to go without them for good, physically and mentally. The mental thing took surprisingly little time – why should human standards, in the end, hold her back? - and she had fond memories of walking in on the others having breakfast that first time. Angel had sworn admiringly. Riptide had choked on whatever he was eating. Azazel had, for once, actually acted surprised. Erik had smiled, for perhaps the first time since the beach.

The physical thing was taking more time because, guess what, there was actually were several good reasons _homo sapiens, _and now _homo superior_ (something Erik had come up with) wore clothes; one of which was that without clothes, you often got pretty damn cold pretty quickly. As she well remembered, and was now discovering again. It was strangely pleasurable to just sit and explore her body and what it could do, trying to make adjustments not just to her appearance but to her actual, true form. She experimented until she could focus on the individual nature of each skin cell and scale, on the layer of fat beneath her skin, on the processes of her organs. If she'd thought before of how her body reacted to the changes she constantly put it through, she'd merely been scratching the surface.

She didn't realise that she had sat unmoving for an entire day until Erik woke her from the trance of investigation late in the evening. "I was thinking in every cell I have," her voice sluggish from disuse, rippling with the echoes of others before she got it under control. "Not just in my brain. I travelled through my skin and my blood. I camped for a while in my heart. I could change one skin cell and leave all the others unaltered, if I wanted. There's so much, Erik." She'd gotten so much control over her body, but then she lost control of her eyes yet again and tears started.

She quickly got to the stage where she could walk into even a cold room and not feel the chill for a while at least, or stand under the baking hot sun for hours and not raise a sweat, or get burnt. She soon became interested in her bone structure and whether she could alter its density. One time when Frost asked her a question she forgot for a moment how her voice was supposed to sound, and then wondered fleetingly if it mattered. She decided that, for now, it did.

And when she wasn't doing all that, she was missing Charles. Alex too, and Sean. Moira, a bit, though she'd never really gotten to know her that well, the woman was so enthralled with Charles. And Hank. But most of all Charles. She wasn't brave enough to call the mansion, there was too much chance that it would be one of the boys and not him. And she said to Erik only once, just before one of the few arguments began and they didn't speak of it again, "If my spine were damaged, with what I know now perhaps I could heal it. There are people who can read minds and fly, and, and shoot energy out of themselves and teleport and there isn't one _fucking_ person in this whole world who can heal him oh oh _god-"_

That was the way the first few months went.


	2. Chapter 2

"You need to learn how to fight," Erik told her, completely out of the blue one evening during dinner, and in front of everyone else in the band no less. Probably making sure she couldn't weasel her way out of it.

"I can fight," she shot back. It wasn't as if she was lying, not really. If you lived on the streets of America as a kid and didn't learn how to bite and scratch and go for the groin to best effect, and then run, you'd lose your food pretty quick. Or if you were older you'd get raped, or dragged off for god knows what purposes by men who, looking back now, she reckoned were pimps. She'd seen it happen, and had taken steps to ensure it would never happen to her. She'd always shifted to the old man form for the few precious minutes until the men had gotten what they wanted from someone further down the street and left, before releasing and collapsing to hide in garbage, so she could get her strength up again.

She saw Frost look over at her and frown, and quickly shut off the memories that she'd thought were long buried under the ones of the good years. Erik had said something about not measuring up to a combat situation in the meantime. "Who says I need to do that? I can just hide for a second, shift into a little girl or something, come out and cry, no one's the wiser. 'Please, mister, I'm scared'", she added, using her eight year old voice. She was enjoying trying out all the things her vocal cords could do.

"That won't be good enough, I'm afraid," Frost cut in. "We're not discounting your gifts, they're invaluable, but out of all of us you're the least offensive. If the humans don't fall for your trick, what would you do to defend yourself?"

Neutral Raven might be towards Frost - although that neutrality was fast waning, seeing as how she and Erik were starting to make decisions about her without actually asking for her input - but she couldn't deny that the woman had a point. Hell, she had a whole arsenal. Erik and Riptide could…disable any number of people from a distance, Angel could fly again and shoot those fireballs, Azazel had the whole teleporting thing, not to mention those swords of his and that sharp tail. Even Frost could use her powers to give someone a migraine times ten, and her diamond form had healed enough by now that she was pretty near indestructible – unless Erik decided to restrain her with a bed frame again. (Don't mentally joke about the telepath when she's in the room, don't do that unless _you_ want that mega migraine.)

And what could _she_ do when it came to real actual fighting, not just a scuffle in an alley? Yeah, she was stronger now that she stayed in her true form most of the time, but she didn't know what on earth to do with that strength.

Still, she wouldn't give Frost complete satisfaction. "Probably not a lot," she answered, not looking at her as she reached for some of the bread. She couldn't quite get it until Angel pushed the basket over, and then she had to say thanks so she wouldn't look like she was having a quiet tantrum, even if she still couldn't quite meet the other girl's face. She picked a roll and tore open the crust. "Fine. I'd be willing to learn, if anyone had something they could teach me." She aimed that last part at Erik; shameless, but Erik was the only one she'd be comfortable getting into close quarters with anyway.

So that made it all the worse when Azazel spoke, and didn't even have the courtesy to address her as he did it. "I will teach the girl," he said to Erik, with a side glance at Frost, completely overlooking her.

"I was rather hoping for that. Magneto?" Erik how dare you don't you dare don't you _dare, _but though he looked as unhappy as she felt about this he did nod, effectively sealing the deal. Oh hell.

"Is good. We begin lessons tomorrow, then." Azazel sipped his coffee and it was over, just like that.

She didn't protest or argue or anything , because in that way lay accusations of childishness, and lack of conviction, and _What are you even doing here then_ and _I should never have made you come, I'm so sorry, _and she just couldn't take any of that right now. What she _did _do was excuse herself very soon after and go and sit outside, wondering if she could make her skin pigment match the grass. When she felt it was time to sleep she went back inside and _of course _ran into Frost almost straight off; perhaps the woman had been coming out to get her.

"I know that you don't like Azazel," she said, right off the bat. "But this isn't about what you like. He's the best among us at hand to hand combat, and that's what you need to learn if you want to survive."

"I know." Believe it or not, Frost, I'm not a naïve little girl who followed Erik out of hero worship and never expected to get my hands dirty. And yeah, _I'm_ allowed to call him Erik. She didn't add any _nyer nyers, _but Frost's eyes still narrowed that little fraction.

"So glad you do. Azazel says he will meet you in the great hall, eight a.m. Don't be late."

"I won't be." Okay, Frost might be a teeny bit concerned for her. Deep down. It didn't mean she had to go along with it with a smile on her lips and a song in her heart, like all those characters that the Disney company pumped out. She could see Frost actually smirking a little, not self satisfied but honestly amused this time. Glad to oblige. Oh, and if I'm going to do as you say, could _you _do as _I _say and not read my mind unless you absolutely have to? Thank you _so _much.

Erik was waiting in their room. He didn't hold a hand out to her or say anything, not even when she went and curled up on the chaise longue, instead of climbing up beside him and moving into his arms. But she had given him the comfort of at least being present, even if he'd sleep alone for the next few nights. The night she stayed out of this chamber was the night Frost was allowed to dig her claws in. She spent her time compensating for the chill she was no longer used to in this case, and listening to Erik mutter in his sleep – I'm the only one allowed to call him Erik, and I'm the only one allowed to see him like this, so _there_ – and thought about Charles, and if he could sleep yet.

They'd gotten into the habit of waking up at the same time, so he watched her from the bed as she got up, stretched and headed for the door. Another good thing about no more clothes; you didn't have to spend ages deciding what to wear in the morning.

Azazel _wasn't_ there when she got to the hall, big surprise, so she amused herself by trying to grow her own tail. This, she quickly decided, was problematic. So far all the forms she'd taken had the standard two arms two legs layout; versatile as her physical structure was, what it _wasn't_ was used to the concept of a fifth limb. Or the possibility of a missing one? Now that she thought about it, could she retract an arm or a leg into her body to mimic an amputee? The temptation to experiment was already strong, but probably best to stick with the tail for now.

She looked over her shoulder at her reflection in one of the hall's mirrors, watched the scales move at the point where her back ended and her butt began as they tried to process her mind's request. They did manage to create a little nub of flesh that stretched down to rest between the beginning of her buttocks, nothing more for the moment, and she sighed in exasperation. And then she jumped as the air imploded, and coughed as the red smoke engulfed her.

When it cleared he was standing just behind her – or was it before her? – and so close she could feel the heat of his body on her breasts and belly. She brought her head around quickly so she could look him in the eye, but his eyes were on the mirror. Or more specifically on the reflection of the area she'd been so focused on. She retracted her failure at once and stepped away, crossing her arms, daring him to say something.

He did. "Nice, but it would not suit you so well, I think. Tails are more trouble than they are worth. Have a mind of their own." As if to prove his point she felt a tickle as his fifth limb traced the side of her foot; she stepped further away and it returned to curl about his legs. He grunted and set down those two swords of his, and then deliberately stepped close to her again. "Well, let us have this out now. I frighten you. Da?"

She had to look up to meet his eyes now; the silk of his tunic brushed her elbows and her pulse hammered everywhere she could think of. "You _did_ kill about twenty guys in front of me, in a matter of seconds. _And_ you tried to stab my friend in the eye. With your tail." The item in question rose up again, almost at the mere mention of it, like a hound dog. "These things kind of tend to stick in the mind."

He raised an eyebrow, and the scar on his face stretched with it. "And yet I recall, your Magneto was perfectly willing to return all those missiles to their senders, killing thousands. It does not matter so much if you cannot see or hear them dying, perhaps, only watch the explosions from afar? And he did not succeed only because he was busy, deflecting that bullet into the telepath's spine." She couldn't help it, she flinched and he noticed. "Another friend of yours, that he maimed? He does all that, and yet you are afraid of _me_?"

It took everything in her to simply shrug and not try to break his face. "Hey, I know I'm a hypocrite, I don't need _you_ to remind me. That doesn't make me wrong. And I know that Erik would never," she saw the incredulity on his face and split decision went for realism, however much it stung, "intentionally hurt me. You, I'm really not sure about. You could kill me, and do it four more times before I even realised I was dead."

"True. Very true. All the more reason that you should put aside your fear, let me teach you to do the same."

"I _don't want-" _

And that was the thing, right there, she didn't know how to finish that sentence. Not that she didn't have plenty of choices: You to teach me. To listen to you. To learn how to hurt. To learn how to kill. To turn into something like _you. _To do this. To be here.

"What don't you want, Mystique, pet?" Azazel asked, leaning forward.

She'd regret it, she'd pay for it, she knew it, but she darted out a hand and seized hold of his mandarin collar, tugging him further forward still. She thought he'd _bamf _straight away but no, he let her pull his ear to her mouth. "First off. _Don't_ call me pet." Then she shoved him from her, hard. He was smiling as he steadied himself, and she thought she could see an incisor sharper than was the norm.

The smile went away as she shifted to the form that she'd used to decieve him so Hank could knock him out, and smiled Shaw's sickly smile. "And second, you're working for the guy who killed me, friend. So who's the hypocrite _now_?"

Oh yeah, he made her pay for that, even though he never touched her throughout the whole course of the day. She was still mad with Erik, but she crawled into his embrace when evening came, and she shed bitter tears of pain that were still healthier than the crying fits she'd been having over the past weeks. She'd always been a fitness buff, but she'd never experienced anything like that awful day, and even her new control over every muscle she had didn't stop them from killing her.

"It will get easier. I promise," Erik said as he stroked her hair and the scales on her waist.

"Can't you teach me?" she murmured to his neck, but she had expected his plea of needing to make plans with Frost so she wasn't disappointed. At least it was still Frost, and it didn't sound as if she'd ever be Emma.

The pain was with her even as she slept, and for the first time she thought she felt one of them while in the embrace of the other. Perhaps Charles was visiting Erik and she just happened to be in the way. Or perhaps he was trying for her as well. Or just for her.

_It hurts so much, _and she didn't know which of them had thought or dreamed it.


	3. Chapter 3

Angel wanted to go shopping – again - and Raven was raring for an excuse to get out of the house and away from the crimson sword wielding slave driver, so she shifted into a leggy redhead and Riptide drove them down to London. (That was jarring, knowing how relatively close Shaw and his gang could have been to her and Charles all that time. Only now they were her gang, weren't they?)

Anyway, they had cash to burn. And despite the lasting awkwardness of being near her, it was honestly nice to see Angel get so excited over all the shops they could go into, and her joy at being able to buy practically anything she wanted now. What wasn't so nice was following her around the stores and waiting for ages while she made her selections, which meant that Raven discovered Riptide, whether or not he could speak English (and yeah, she still didn't know) was very eloquent in terms of eye rolling.

Angel, swaying under the weight of her latest purchases, couldn't understand why she wasn't more enthused when it came to clothes. "You must have been loaded. You telling me you never went on one little spending spree?"

"It was Charles' money, really, not mine," she shrugged. She's glad that she didn't hesitate at all when saying that. "And honestly? I was never that hung up on clothes to begin with. If I saw something I liked in a window, I'd remember and replicate it when I got home, see if it looked good. If I _really_ liked it, then boom, new item in the head wardrobe. Otherwise…"

"So…you're telling me you'd secretly go around without a top or pants on?"

"Isn't that what I'm doing now?" Angel admitted that she'd got her there and Riptide hid a smirk. "Seriously, I didn't really do it _that_ often. I covered myself as much as possible in case of a slip up. Besides, this is England. It's cold. _You _try walking around here without a top, even if people can't tell, and see how long it takes for you to want to put something on."

She hoped that would be the end of the conversation, but Angel persisted in trying to draw her out, and when they'd stowed the stuff in the car and Angel suggesting visiting Soho - 'to check out how the English do it,' as she phrased it - Raven pointed them in roughly the right direction and begged off. She didn't think they'd miss her much.

She'd be out of place there any way; she knows only the lighter brighter side of the city to be walked about with her arm through that of her big beloved brother, not the places where you could buy someone for the night or watch a woman strip to music. Despite Charles' copious interests outside his course, he'd certainly never considered coming down to London for the underground sex scene; he'd probably have had a heart attack if he'd so much as guessed she even knew where Soho was. Instead they'd come for culture, and it was culture she went looking for now.

The National Gallery. She wandered among the pictures, remembering he'd always wanted to know what the subjects had been thinking as they'd been captured for prosperity. Greedy.

The London Library. When the Bodleian and the British library just hadn't been enough. She didn't stay long, too many memories of more waiting around while he found what he wanted.

Bond Street, where she'd tempted him with all the shining items in the windows, whispering that he knew he wanted to buy at least _something_. "Get thee behind me, Satan," he'd laughed.

Covent Garden, with the Opera House and the Ballet. They'd only been maybe three times, but her heart had ached with the excitement of the queue for tickets and the glory of the costumes and the music, and the singing or dancing.

She wound up in Hyde Park with some bread for the ducks and geese and swans. She wondered if they had gotten back to the car by now and were worrying where she was. Or if they'd driven back to the house, leaving her behind and good riddance. Or if they were still in Soho, enjoying themselves in all the weird ways they could. She threw her bread and was very thankful that she wasn't in Oxford; she wouldn't have been able to stand it.

The park closed for the night but she eluded the grounds men, and once they were gone she went back to sit by the biggest lake again. In her true form, this time. What ducks and swans there were about didn't seem to mind, even though she had nothing more to give them. It was a cloudy night with a half moon, and she could barely even see herself until there was a flash of red lighting up the space beside her for a moment, and Erik was there. With Azazel, but more to the point it was Erik.

"Hey there," she said as she got up.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" He sounded angry, which was good. He'd been moping too much, he needed a bit of outrage. He sounded worried too, and that was better.

"Saying goodbye."

"…What?" Very erudite and intelligent, Erik, I can tell exactly what Charles sees in you. She put him out of the agony of uncertainty and gestured to the lake, the trees, the buildings. Everything.

"To all this. In case I don't get to see it again."

The two men stared at her. "You live twenty miles outside city, at present," Azazel said after a few heart beats. "Hardly difficult to come and see the metropolis again. Also, not as if you are being sent to the frontlines. You are not near good enough for that, if they even exist right now."

"You got me there, red." She looked back at Erik. "But then I can come back and say goodbye again. And again. It'll make it easier when the war starts, because sooner or later it will. You said it yourself." Erik said nothing with his mouth. His frown spoke volumes. "Denial is a terrible thing, Erik." He didn't look to be in the mood. At all. She sighed. "How'd you find me? Did you have to rope in Frost?"

"_Da._" Azazel looked amused. "She was not pleased at all. Called you a wayward little cow."

"She loves me really." She wasn't being totally sarcastic, just as she was sure Frost wasn't being totally sincere in her insult.

"Let's go." Erik held out his hand, she smirked and took it, he pulled her close. "Azazel, take us back."

"Of course, Magneto." She felt his hand close about Erik's arm above where her own rested and then-

She just had time to catch Azazel's eye before there was that _feeling _as they were teleported, and then he let go of Erik's arm and took his hand off her back and sauntered away.

Erik didn't speak to her again until they were safely in their room. "What were you _thinking?_ Do you know how this looks to them, if you wander off?"

"I know that it looks as if I can live without being in your presence for five minutes. And that I might wander off, but I do come back."

"'Come back?' I had to go and fetch you!"

"Yes, you did. Gave you a wakeup, I think." She sat on the chaise longue and rested her elbow on her knee. "You can't keep going on like this, Erik. You've been going downhill ever since we rescued Frost. I hate to tell you, but you're just not that great at teamwork. And that's fine when you're off on your own, hunting Nazis, but not here. From what I can tell you're delegating most of the stuff to Frost and just putting your stamp of approval on things."

She flexed and gestured her hand. "Like me learning how to fight; she practically set all that up and put the idea into your head. Not mentally," she added quickly as his mouth tightened; she didn't want Frost to get into trouble, because then trouble would come looking for her. "Just the normal way. She looks to you for approval for the moment, but how long do you think that stamp's gonna stay official? Or that they're going to put up with you? Or me?"

He didn't look at her; he took off the helmet and ran fingers through his hair. "What would you have me do, then?"

"_Something._ You need to get out of this mansion. Or at least take an actual, physical part in all those plans you and Frost have been cooking. Do some practising; put the fear of _you _into them again. You're their leader now, Erik. Remind them about that, instead of letting Frost take over." It amazes her, the stuff that comes out of her mouth sometimes. Who knew she could be so savvy? Then again, Charles had been like this after days indoors working on his thesis, and she knew precisely when to call a halt and get him outside.

She smiled at Erik, lay down and turned to face the backrest of the chaise longue, no doubt giving him a fabulous view of her back and all that lay below it. There was a creak as he sat down on the bed. "Have you ever heard of a certain anecdote, concerning Mark Anthony and Cleopatra?"

"Maybe. Charles always liked to look up the history behind Shakespeare."

"One day, the two lovers were out on a pleasure barge. Anthony was fishing, but Cleopatra contrived to tie a salted fish to his line. When he pulled it in all who were watching laughed, as did he, but Cleopatra said that he had better put up his rod. His task was to hunt not fish, but continents."

"I don't want you to hunt anything. I just don't want you to end up face down in a ditch from a sword in the back. Or possibly a drooling patient in a mental asylum, with all the metal objects removed." She propped herself up on an elbow and looked over her shoulder at him. "Besides, I'd hate to end up like Cleo."

He got up, moved over to her, leaned over and brought his face oh so close. He touched her cheek. "You won't. I will _never_ let anything or anyone hurt you."

"You mean you'll do your best-"

"No. _Never._" And he meant that, and if he'd spoken any more after that he'd surely be blurting out I hurt Charles but not _you_. And what could she say in reply, really? Thank you? You already hurt me, but I forgive you? You bastard? He bent down more and their lips touched; not as deep or strong as the night before the beach, but it was enough.

She walked over to the bed after he'd fallen asleep, and lay and watched him dream. Charles, Charles, guess where I've been? I've been to London, to visit the queen.


	4. Chapter 4

Azazel had more info for her in the hall the next morning. "I take it you are again the source of Emma's bad temper today? She is _very _annoyed."

"Does Ms. Frost not like being bumped down the ladder again? Her self esteem must be in tatters." She stayed on the balls of her feet, ready to dodge.

"Perhaps she thinks that, after playing second fiddle to Shaw for so long, she should have her chance to lead? Particularly since the, ah, _enchantment _of their partnership was fast wearing off?"

She couldn't simply dismiss his words straight off. She could all too easy imagine how frustrating it must have been for such an intelligent woman (and whatever else Frost was she was pretty damn smart, no one could deny that) constantly following the whims of a guy like Shaw. Especially if the 'ah, _enchantment' _was, as the red guy said, wearing off. And then, when he was finally out of the picture, to have someone else step up and claim not only the role of leader, but make it quite clear that he was keeping the role of second in command for someone else. Or at least, she hoped Erik was.

Still, the fact remained: "If she thinks that…then she should have dealt with Shaw herself, and not waited for someone else to do it for her. _Erik_ was the one who nearly got killed while she was sitting pretty in a cell. I should say that gives him the right over her."

"That is so." Azazel hefted one of the swords and looked down the blade, and right at her. "How do you say? The king is dead, long live the one who pushed a coin through his head."

"Amen to that." She took a step nearer. "And you? Were you as…disenchanted with Shaw as Frost was?" Now she was treading on distinctly dodgy ground. Azazel had killed for Shaw more than once or twice, more than a hundred times, more than who knew. She didn't care to know if he had any qualms left in him, but she had to know because it might mean all the difference for Erik. And her, of course, but she probably wasn't important enough for them to kill. Yet. That didn't mean they couldn't think up other fun things to do with her.

Her heart was pounding as she had to look up into Azazel's eyes; he was too damn tall. "Well? I think I asked you a question."

"So you did." He looked more amused than anything else. Was he smirking again? He was, damn it, he was smirking. Probably thought she was pathetically adorable. Or just pathetic. Or whatever it was Russians thought. "There was never enchantment for me, when it came to Shaw. I saw what sort of thing he was straight off; not the first such I have met by far. Power mad. Delusions of grandeur. A staunch belief in the inferiority and stupidity of humans." Here Azazel paused for a moment. "Have to admit, he had a point with that last one. The point remains. The human species, on the whole…really, in the end it took little effort to turn them on each other." He looked at her, looked in a way that made her feel cold. "It always does."

"And that made it _okay_ to wipe them out?"

"Not in the way Shaw planned, at least. Nuclear winter? Shoddy. How would we have rebuilt the earth from that? 'Children of the Atom', indeed! Too much radiation is not good for the health of _anything_, even a mutant, to say nothing of the destruction when the bombs would hit."

She couldn't help it; her face had scrunched in confusion. "If you thought his plan was that _dumb_, why'd you go along with it?"

He shrugged. "It was something new. Humans against each other I have seen before, many times; but mutants behind the humans? For the first time in history? I would not forgive myself if I had stayed away."

"_Lovely."_ She walked away, leant against a wall. "If it was a war that you were looking for, it would've beenover pretty quick. Is that why you're sticking around now, in hopes of another? Another first; mutant against mutant?"

He actually walked over to lean beside her, crossing his arms. His tail brushed the side of her foot. Again. "Ah, _dear_ Mystique. It is not any thrill of battle or warfare that truly catches and holds such as myself. What does that playwright say, I do not smile and murder while I smile?"

"Oh, well, thank god for that."

"Oh, no. Rather thank boredom. Or if you condemn me for my part in the plans of Shaw, then _blame_ boredom. I was inclined to see how far he would go; what matter if I killed a few humans along the way?"

"A _few_?"

"Now I shall confess," he went on, immune to all the sarcasm she could throw at him, "I am inclined to see how far Magneto and you will go as well. You are, after all, far more interesting than Shaw and Frost, strange as it is."

"Wow. I'm so flattered."

He snapped his fingers under her nose, and laughed to see her flinch away. "You should be. Although I must say, though I have met men like your Magneto before, in all my time alive I have never met a woman quite like you."

"Stop, I'm blushing." She held out her arm, turning it to show off the scales. "Pretty sure there's never been _anything_ like me before." She watched him as he watched her arm, and even she could tell he wanted to touch her skin, perhaps run his fingers across the scales at the crook of her elbow. She wondered what his red would look like against her blue, but didn't really have the urge to find out. Or any urge at all. She drew the line at his tail on her foot and even that was a line that could be pushed back. She saw his fingers twitch and took her time to pull it back against her body, and just as slowly step away as he met her eye.

She'd seen the gazes of the boys who wanted to fuck the shape she'd worn for so many years and had been glared at by Charles until they slunk away, or the nice ones who mooned over her shell and never dared come near because she was too pretty to surely ever be interested in them. She'd seen the eyes of boys up close just before they kissed her, although it'd never gotten further than that, trembling with excitement and lust. Hank had hardly dared to meet her eyes, but she'd liked what she'd seen there so much, and had been so disappointed when she hadn't been able to find it in his new golden ones. Charles had always looked at her with solid love that shone even through disapproval or anger, and Erik saw beauty in everything she was and did.

She'd only met Shaw the once…well, twice, but the second time he hadn't really been in any state to make eye contact. He'd been charming and suave but the danger had shone through almost immediately, with a tad of greed thrown in as he'd eyed up their little group and probably wondered just how he could use them. Erik had told her he'd woken up from nightmares where his nemesis had smiled at him as if he would eat him alive.

She wondered if Shaw had ever looked at Erik as Azazel looked at her now. Admiration, lust, love, adoration, protectiveness, greed or what she couldn't tell; what she could tell was that there was _interest._ And what was more frightening? The interest of a super powered, ethically challenged megalomaniac who wanted to destroy the world and rebuild it in the worst possible way; or the interest of the guy who'd gone along with said megalomaniac, even made it easier for the world destroying plot to happen, simply because he was _bored? _God, there really wasn't much to choose between him and Shaw. And maybe one day there wouldn't be much difference between Shaw and Erik either, god, _god_.

"Are you going to _teach_ me anything today? Or do you want me to fetch you a camera so the view can last longer?" She stuck her hands on her hips and pushed a knee out, although seductive was not her forte. Eyebrow raise yet again, and he threw her a sword and they began the day proper.

"Would it be useless to say I'm worried about Azazel?" she asked Erik.

"About him, or about what he might do to us?"

"…Not funny, Erik. Not funny in the slightest."

He sighed and lowered the book, and then groaned as she deliberately snuggled down harder into his lap. "Thank you very much for that."

"You're welcome." She craned her neck so that her hair brushed his chin. "We _should_ be worried. He's only here so long as we stay interesting, or so he says. What do you think will happen when he gets bored again?"

"Perhaps he'll leave us with a parting gift we won't forget in a hurry?" She sighed heavily and dug her fingers into his thigh. "Very well, very well! We are left without a convenient form of transportation, to say nothing of an effective weapon."

"You're going to turn him loose against someone again?" The _look_ on that had been on his face, not joyful or happy or disgusted or anything but _lunge thrust in out strike, more, again, more. _One thing her blue skin did as well as her peachy shell did was goose-pimple, and he noticed. This time he set the book down, touched the back of her head to get her to look at him.

"Is that going to be a problem, Raven?" She knew what he meant – not that he wouldn't do it even if she objected, but the question was could she deal with it? Or that it was him who'd made the decision?

"Will you have to? If we lay low for now, they might leave us alone." As soon as it had gotten out she knew how stupid that was, but at least Erik didn't let her know it. "Then again, what am I saying? They fired what they'd have used to kick off a nuclear war at us instead."

"We won't strike the first blow. We're better than them. But when the war comes we must be ready-"

"I _know_, but Erik, the way he-" She stopped, because if she started babbling now he wouldn't dismiss her, but she'd sound panicky and afraid and she wasn't afraid of Azazel now, because being afraid wouldn't help her at all. She breathed, breathed, tried again, calm this time. "All the time he was killing them, his face was just _nothing_. He didn't hate them, he didn't get a kick out of doing them in, he didn't feel sorry for them, he just did it."

Erik sighed again, from the very depths of his chest. "That's nothing new, Raven. Look at any well trained soldier these days, you'll see the same. Because frankly, killing people is not an easy or a healthy thing to do." His eyes closed as he added, "at the beginning, anyway."

He'd killed Shaw. She knew this. She'd known through Charles's implications that he'd killed others before they'd all come together as well. She touched his chin, and he trembled and covered her hand with his. "Tell me," she said, and he did. He put his arms about her and told her for such a long time; names that all sounded German to her admittedly untrained ear, but were most like a mix of German and Austrian and whoever else had had their fingers in the big old Thousand Year Reich pie. 'Where?' he had asked each of these faceless men, 'Where is he?', and had used various methods to get them to tell him, methods that made much use of his extensive imagination.

And while she knew that Charles had been here before and had been the first to know these things, he'd be too far too naïve and idealistic to delve into the details that Erik was giving her. Not that it made her smug or anything, because who honestly would be? But with Charles, Erik hadn't had the chance to confess, because Charles already knew him. She had to learn who he was bit by bit, and that was much more healthy and so tragic.

Was she wicked, she wondered, as yet again their deaths didn't seem to matter nearly as much as the ones that had made her scream when they happened before her eyes. Was she so…whatever it was that she was, so much with Erik, that he could kill and kill and torture while he killed and yet do no wrong, while she wrote Azazel off so quick? Or was it just that she only cared if it was going on in front of her, or even happening to her? Did it matter if they had been good men or bad, or if they'd been following orders? (God help her, that she never be at the mercy of men following orders.

Again.)

* * *

><p><strong>A.N: Azazel's opinion of Shaw's plan is pretty much my own. I mean, I know, Bond villain scheme and all; but I had to work hard to restrain myself while watching the film from screaming 'I don't care if this is a Marvel film, RADIATION DOES NOT WORK THAT WAY.' <strong>


	5. Chapter 5

Erik is asleep for once when she gets up. He had a late night, and a nightmare that meant he hadn't gotten to sleep again until who knows, and she'd just stayed awake anyway. One more thing that was scaring her, just how little sleep she seemed to need now.

She eats an apple or three in the kitchen, and for just about the first time wonders where everyone else sleeps in this house, or wherever they stop to make camp. And just what the sleeping arrangements are. And, arranging the apple pips into little flowers on the work surface, just what their 'comrades' think their sleeping arrangements are. Frost probably knows the truth. Do the others wonder for what they're waiting for, and that they'd just get on with it?

He dreamed about the bullet again. It's woken him ten – no, eleven times now. He's never cried. Erik is not the sort of man to cry when anyone can see him.

Except for Charles.

She glares at the stupid flowers, leaves them for the one who gets up next.

She calculates the time gap between England and the East Coast and then thinks who cares, she need some time to get there anyway. She walks back to their bedroom and blows on Erik's face; he was _not _the sort of guy you want to wake up with a start, since he tended to go for the throat, even if he apologised no end afterwards.

"Is there anything you needed me to do today?"

"Wha?"

"Is there anything," she crouches down, "you needed," taking his hand, "me to do today? Because otherwise, I'm going on a little trip. Also, where does Azazel sleep, I need to get him up."

He clutches and it hurts so much she grunts. "You're-"

"I am going to pay my brother a visit, Erik. _Someone_ round here has to take the initiative."

"Raven." He doesn't need to say anything else, he doesn't like her idea. Well, tough. He sighs, strokes her hand. She gives him a peck on the cheek.

"Which room?"

"You can just whistle for him. He'll hear it from near anywhere; I don't think he even sleeps."

"Okay, thanks. I'll see you later. Get some more shuteye, hmm?" He sighs again. "Anything you want me to say to him?" He doesn't dignify that with a response.

She gets to the door just as she does something really, profoundly and inescapably stupid; she speaks thus, "_I'll_ tell him how you feel, then." She's looking over her shoulder as she speaks and sees his head shoot up to stare at her, and she barely has time to think _aw hell_ before her legs take over and she starts to run. One other thing she has time to think, _thank god there's no metal in this hallway. _

She's far from Olympic worthy but as she bounds down the stairs and the carpet rails make grabs for her ankles she clears their grasp and thanks Azazel's training programme even as she tries to muster up enough breathe to whistle for him. She skids on the hall carpet (agh carpet burn that's going to _smart_) and turns into the corridor for the back door so hard she slams into a wall (oh _god_ my shoulder) and he doesn't bother with the stairs, he just _leaps _over the banister half way down, lands in a crouch and pushes off at a sprint. She's lucky that he thinks to use the pipes in the walls too late, she has the breath and _phiiii, _there it goes, _phiii _(I'm digging a grave for me and just about everyone else; he's going to insist everything's made of metal from now on, isn't he?)

She kicks the backdoor before he can get to it and make the lock hold so firm she'll break her leg before she gets out, and it gives way and she is _off, _fast fast fast across the lawn (I've got splinters in my foot splinters in my _foot) _and _bamf _red smoke and "Where are we running off to, then?" and "New York State now now get us there _now" _and "Raven stop stop _please" _and her foot catches in something that grasps from the lawn and she's falling forward and hand about her wrist hard and _bamf-_

A scrunched up second of eternity and then _whoomf, _she hits the ground on another continent and pierces her lip with her teeth. "Ow," through a mouthful of blood, "fuck, _ow."_

"Language." He offers her a hand up. "Fun as that was, what was that all about?"

"_That_ was me doing something I _really_ should have thought out more beforehand." Her voice sounds even more strange than normal. She spits blood, and then wonders if it is even the same colour now. Of all the things she experimented with, she's never thought to think if her bodily fluids have changed to match her skin.

* * *

><p>"Good <em>lord<em>, Raven, what-"

"It's okay, Charles, it's fine." She needs to nip the big brother instinct in the bud so she takes his hand and lets him see how she got the limp, the stiff arm and the busted lip, and then again thinks she _really_ should have thought this through beforehand.

"He _chased _you?"

"He was just trying to stop me leaving."

"Like _that?"_

"If I'd stuck around to argue my point he'd have locked me in our room." The look on his face makes her giggle, so she bites her lip again because god it really does hurt and at least she isn't going to laugh until she cries now. "He'll be angry when I get back, nothing more. Let's, let's not talk about that, all right? You, how're you, how's-" Being paralysed? Having to go everywhere in a wheel chair? Being lifted on and off everything, most likely including the john?

"Raven, it's _all right_." He takes her hand now. "It's not as if it happened yesterday. I've had plenty of time to go through all the mental trials and tribulations." Without me. I should have been here for you, you were paralysed and I wasn't there, I wasn't there. "Raven." He doesn't say anything else, he doesn't even speak into her mind. He just holds her hands and they stand together and look at the house, not at each other.

At last he stirs and strokes her fingers, even touching the scales. "What have you been doing in the meantime, sis?"

"I've been robbing banks." This gets her another bemused look. "Don't worry, big brother, it was all Shaw's money."

"That's a relief. I'd hate to think…" Hate to think what, Charles? That on top of everything else (fugitive soldier possibly Erik's lover) I'd become a thief as well? She prays he didn't get that because that isn't fair to any of them. "Are they treating you well?" Well, Frost has _lots_ of reasons to dislike me at present, Angel and Riptide I'm really not sure about, Azazel likes stroking my feet with his tail, and Erik broods. God, does he brood. She squeezes his hand and wonders if she should show him

_everything_

just as she said she would and just as Erik raced to stop her from doing.

And she _can't_. Because Erik trusts her, and if she let slip to Charles even a hint of what she was keeping packed behind this mental wall she'd built he would never trust her again. He doesn't love her – or no, okay, that's completely unfair. She'll concede that he loves her, but he is not _in _love with her; Erik is a man who falls in love (willing or no) with very few people, and she is not one of those people yet.

But that is fine, because he trusts her instead, and she would rather have trust than this. She would, she really would. And it's about time that she learns how to control her damn tear ducts.

"I should go."

"But – yes, of course. Will I see you again soon?"

She kisses him and hugs him and doesn't reply. She leaves him under the tree that he asked Hank to wheel him to when he'd received her psychic message. And doesn't give him anything to say to the boys; she doubts they have anything polite to say to her anyway. Oh yeah, Hank's doing well, by the by.

She shifts back when she gets to the main road and sits to wait for Azazel, and she howls until it seems likes her insides are beginning to shift like her outsides and everything is turning to salt water and running out of all her orifices. Except for her ears, and only then just. Her head aches and everything's sticky, and just to make it even better Azazel shows up after a while, purses his lips and offers her his red pocket handkerchief. Her pretend sleeve can only do so much, so she takes it and cleans her face and makes a point of blowing her nose, very loudly, before offering it back.

He accepts it without flinching and even goes so far as to tuck it back into his pocket. Then he offers his arm, like Fred Astaire or something. "Drop me off a little way from the house, will you? I don't think I'll be ready to face him for a while." Only when he's nodded his assent does she put her hand on his arm; immediately he takes it and slips it through and pulls her that much closer to him so her cheek is practically on his shoulder.

For once she doesn't complain. Mostly she thinks about how ironic it all is, that the man she trusts the most is the one who tried to imprison her, and the one she trusts the least is the one who set her free.


	6. Chapter 6

**A warning: more than a mention of attempted sex during this chapter.**

**For anyone waiting for the confrontation between Erik and Raven, it will come, don't worry.**

**But first there comes this.**

**Which should make things interesting.**

* * *

><p>Erik was not there to face when she got back. There was only Frost, smiling and sipping coffee, with a dossier to push across the kitchen table. "Better get reading. You've got a busy day tomorrow."<p>

The busy day would apparently consist of impersonating the secretary of a fairly high up big shot in the government with ties to the CIA; not content with having broken in the first time, now they were going to send her in to find out how the humans planned to deal with 'the mutant problem'. Or at least she hoped like hell it _was_ them, and not just Frost. She lay in their bed he had yet to come back to for the first time, and studied the picture of the woman, Felicity Crockett. They wouldn't kill her, of course; that would give the game away (thank God) but that didn't mean they would be particularly nice when it came to getting her out of the picture while she replaced her for the day. She lay awake and thought of Felicity's smile.

In fact the replacement was fairly organised, if not entirely civilised. Azazel teleported the two of them into Crockett's apartment just as she was ready to leave for work, gave her the chance to say a few words so Raven had an idea of what her voice sounded like, and then Frost dropped her with a mental command. She shifted and was on her way in a matter of minutes. Still, leaving Crockett sprawled on the living room floor (without even an attempt to make her comfortable, seriously, couldn't they at least have stuck a pillow under her head? Come to think of that, couldn't I?) didn't improve her confidence one bit, and she spent the whole trip to the office trying and failing not to think of that film, Invasion of the Bodysnatchers.

Getting into the office was easy, though, and after that it was just a matter of taking notes and using a typewriter; not exactly brain surgery. She took chances to slip several documents into her handbag that she was sure Erik would love to look at, just as much as he'd love to rip out the fillings of the man now dictating to her about this and that and the other. Heck, this was a damn sight better than waitressing; no one shouting at her or carrying heavy trays, just boredom and writing and typing. The minutes and hours ticked on and people started to leave at the end of the working day. Not her, because this was one of the nights where secretary and employer both stayed late, and there was a chance for her to get at the really good stuff.

She was putting yet another thing away in its drawer when she heard him get up for perhaps the first time that day and walk over to her. Okay, nothing to worry about, don't panic. And even if she did panic she'd learned to have some control over her pores, so she wouldn't be sweating for a while.

(How is it I can control when I sweat, but not when I cry?)

So she kept on with the putting away, and kept on with it right up until he put one hand on her shoulder, and as she thought it was best to jerk he wrapped the other arm around her waist and holy holy hell she could feel something poking into her back-

"I'm sure you've been waiting for this all _day, _my love, haven't you?"

If he'd said it any other way she'd have broken free and clubbed him down, grabbed her bag and run (and gotten caught on the way out most likely) but _this_ way that he'd said it-

And it didn't just hit her, it _slammed_ into her that, for all that Frost (and Erik) had prepped her, they hadn't known

- (or just chose not to mention, and Frost, honey, I'm looking at _you _here)

-that this man was having an affair with the woman whose shape she was wearing, oh god oh _god _oh-

He turned her around, still holding on, and this was worse because now he was poking her practically between the legs, and by some miracle/chance/sheer dumb luck Crockett probably played coy on nights like these, because when he went to kiss her and she couldn't _help_ but jerk her face away he simply chuckled and put his lips on her neck instead. And ugh, that was worse still because he was that much nearer her breasts and _ugh _he was slurping like she was a milk shake and his hand left her shoulder what was he going to _do _with it

(I am not here, this is not me, this is Felicity Crockett I'm just in her skin although I wish I weren't)

he was going to stick it down her (Felicity's) top, that was what he was going to do, and thank somebody she still had the presence of mind to form a (Felicity's) nipple that he could stroke; she felt the acid rising at the back of her (_Felicity's) _throat (although it was still her nausea) and used the old gulp and swallow, gulp and swallow to keep it down, and that helped her to look aroused and panting which she really needed to be because Felicity surely wouldn't play coy for _this_ long. And he left off slurping and brought his mouth back up to hers and this time she had to let him kiss Felicity, she had to otherwise he'd know something was up, and she had to move Felicity's tongue and she had to make Felicity moan and that still wasn't enough for him because he's taking his hand out of Felicity's top oh Jesus and taking Felicity's hand and moving it down down to feel how hard oh no

"Just a quick one, dear-"

and she thinks how ironic it is, how _stupid_, that she's come so far from the dangers and pimps of the streets through mansions and Charles and the pubs and all the shy boys and CIA headquarters and Hank and more mansions and Erik (and Azazel) and now here and now she's going to be raped in the most opulent of offices because that's what it's going to be, even if Felicity has done this before and enjoyed it, and Raven is quite sure that this time she won't, she really won't. His mouth leaves Felicity's (hers), his tongue catching on the corner, and he moves to Felicity's (her) throat and hair rasped on Felicity's (_hers, _her false) skin and even if it's just her inside Felicity's shell she'll go _mad_ with horror and disgust

(there are worse things than being raped there are far worse things than this the beach not just with Charles and Erik but before it when they fired at us I wet myself I was going to die there can be nothing worse than that, _this is nothing this is not __**me**__)_

his hand's on his fly and she's forcing herself to think what type of underwear Felicity should wearing for him to pull down or aside and even (never ever thought I'd be) thinking of how to remove any tell tale barriers inside her that Felicity surely doesn't have because if she can grow a tail she can remove a hymen - she hopes - then the phone the phone rings the phone is _ringing _and he scowls and lets her go, let her go and it wasn't thwarted passion that made Felicity grasp her chest and puff and wheeze.

She began to tidy herself while he grasped the receiver and said "Yes?" She saw out of the corner of her eye how his face changed, and then he covered it to say, "Miss Crockett, that will be all for this evening. Before you go, could you get me the file on the Cuban crisis?"

"Of course, sir."

She knew as soon as she looked at it (making a pretence of checking that she'd got the right one in case he was watching) that she'd struck gold. She couldn't take it with her, though – or no, she could. She ran her eyes down each page quick quick _quick_ ("Just making sure it's all here, sir") and placed it in front of him, then bade him goodnight, got the bag and coat, left the office and went down the stairs and out the front door and hailed a cab (that was what Felicity sometimes did on nights like these, if she left before her employer) and she was on her way back to the apartment.

She paid the man, waited until he was out of sight, went into the alley by the block, checked there was no one there, vomited. There was only a little. Wiped her mouth, came out of the alley, in the front door, up the stairs and into the apartment and shucked off Felicity's husk and didn't have to feel disgusting anymore, because that had not been her.

"How did it go?" Frost for once didn't seem to be skimming her thoughts, else she'd look more apologetic. Or amused.

"Good. I got quite a haul." She emptied the various documents onto the table, and as Frost smiled at the sight of them she spoke louder, "There's this as well." She thought of the pages she glimpsed, and felt Frost riffle through them like skim reading a book. The telepath's smile widened; she looked honestly pleased for perhaps the first time since they'd met.

"That's wonderful! Well done, Mystique."

Wonderful. That, Erik, he'd told her, that was what Shaw had said when a broken boy had seen (or rather heard) his mother killed, and had finally performed according to Shaw's wishes. Wonderful.

"Is there anything that happened today that Miss Crockett should know? We can't leave a blank in her memory." We can leave the bruises from her landing hard on the floor, of course. But she showed Frost the business of the day, going to work and typing and note taking and everything so that the telepath could trace over it and paste it into Felicity's brain, like a scrap book. She kept her mind deliberately calm, calm, as she said "Oh yeah, this as well." She wasn't so stupid as to try and hit Frost with the memory, that would be pointless; this woman of all women was next to impossible to faze and it'd be laughable to even try. She showed her the events, not the emotion. She showed Felicity nearly getting it on with the boss, not Raven screaming inside. She didn't want to shock, what she wanted was to confront.

Frost didn't break eye contact with her. "I see. Well done for keeping it up."

"Thanks." She sorted the papers into something near order and approached to hand them to her, and said, "Did you _know _they were having an affair?"

Frost looked at her without blinking. "Judging from their body language, I thought it was quite likely." Her lips quirked uncontrollably, and for that alone she was going down.

"So you sent me into a dangerous situation without that knowledge, possibly jeopardizing my disguise."

Frost's eyes wavered a little as she no doubt realised how that would appear, especially to Erik, but "I thought he would have at least some discretion, but from the looks of it you rose to the challenge fairly well." And for _that, _whether she meant it approvingly or mockingly or however, she deserved no mercy.

Raven had learned more than to shield her mind from a telepath; she'd also, through various means, learned to keep a telepath out with more than just a shield. She gathered everything everything _everything_ behind her eyes (and threw in the wet freezing burning crushing stretching fear from the beach while she was at it) and said, "That's good; if I hadn't I might, oh, I don't know, lost control and given the game away."

"You might have. But you didn't."

"Yeah. I didn't." And with that she lets her arrow _fly _and it scores a bull's eye, Frost is so very unprepared and jerks back and gasps and everything everything _everything_ (the fear the biggest part)hits her in the brain and the stomach and whatever she's eaten in the last while comes a little way back up but she manages to stop it - though the hand goes reflexively to the mouth - and she quickly gets the mental stuff under control but her rage and humiliation spills across and into everywhere, _How can this little girl hurt _me?

"Two things you should consider," she said, as she shoved the papers into Frost's free hand (and I hope you get a paper cut). "_One._ I grew up alongside a powerful and experimenting telepath for more than ten years, and I reaped the benefits. The backlash you're suffering? Just one defence mechanism I developed; I've got a whole lot more. I've only been letting you read my mind for this long because I was trying to play _nice_. Plus, as you're no doubt aware, I had something of a _troubled _childhood, and I've got plenty more stored up where that came from.

"_Two._ Erik has considerably more reasons to trust me than he does you, which means he's more likely to listen to what _I _have to say, and is also going to notice if I start acting strangely – like if I'd had my mind wiped, for instance? In case you were considering." Frost had been narrowing her eyes, the way she always did whenever she was doing her thing, like Charles' temple poke. "I'm not going to start pointing fingers or making accusations, Frost. Maybe you intentionally set me up for fun, or for something else, maybe you made an assumption that turned out to be wrong, maybe you just honestly forgot to mention it. I'll let this one slide. But from now on, you tell me _everything _I need to know, just like I've done for you, or I'll make damn sure you regret it."

She didn't ask for a confirmation, that would undermine everything she'd just said. Frost said nothing, but she inclined her head, drew the papers close and whistled for their ride, then turned to go into the bedroom. She only now realised Crockett was gone from the floor; they'd probably stripped her and put her into bed, ready to have the day someone else had lived for her pumped into her brain, with the emotions of the ghost in the machine (thanks for that term of phrase, Descartes) filtered out to make room for her own. Perhaps she'd get a lot of enjoyment out of that near wham bam thank you ma'am.

Azazel had arrived, and as soon and Frost came out again he took both their arms. He didn't go straight away, though. Did he feel how very stiff her muscles were, with the effort of not jerking away when his skin met hers? (that was Felicity, not me, not me that was nothing, I was going to die, and there will never be _anything _to compare to that

but _that_ very nearly did it

never again)

I could have run, she thought, in the second between America and England. I could have knocked him out (maybe killed him) grabbed the stuff and run. I'd surely gotten enough by then, I could've blown my cover and run. No one (Erik) would have blamed me(much) if I'd run. Even if the phone hadn't rung just then, I could still have run.

Why didn't I run? What is Erik, what is this whole cause, whatever has changed around about within me, that I stayed and would have stayed till the end; that I didn't run?

* * *

><p><strong>Bleh, this is the very first near rape scene I've ever done, and it shows. Please, criticise it and tell me how I can make it better, I beg you! No, really, please, rip it a new one, being totally sincere here, I promise.<strong>

**This whole chapter is of course assuming that Raven has never had sex. In this story at least, she hasn't, yet. (Nope, not even with Erik, he kissed her and sent her on her way with a spring in her step and a song in her heart. You know what I mean.) I reasoned that, what with her and Charles' fear of slip ups, she did her best not to lose focus for an instant, thus no alcohol and no control losing sex. Plus, the poor girl had body issues. She's kissed a few guys, and wanted to do more, but didn't.**

**I don't know how equipped comic Mystique is to deal with mental attacks, but in this universe she grew up with Charles, so I assumed she learned at least a few things. If Emma hadn't been subtly reading her mind and thus connected to her there wouldn't have been much Raven could do, but if there is a connection she can cross it at least a little herself – and deliver a little present. Hee hee.**


End file.
